


our reality

by shouldbeworking



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeworking/pseuds/shouldbeworking
Summary: “And all the great and powerful Phantom Thieves—with you as the sole exception—are living in this alternate reality without even realizing it.”
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 211





	our reality

_Early on in his investigation, sometime in the summer, Goro Akechi invited Ren Amamiya out._

_Now, it’s important to understand—Goro didn’t care about fish. Or turtles. Or whatever the hell else one can find in an aquarium. And he would rather be six feet in the ground than waste his precious little free time on something as inane and trivial as… "hanging out." So this wasn't that._

_This was reconnaissance. A perfect opportunity to surveil the actions of his opponent in an unknown, crowded space._

_Goro had gotten a lot of good data that day. Amamiya showed his proficiency at sliding through the meandering hordes, was quick to memorize the layout of the building and map an efficient path through all its exhibits. The same exact path Goro had thought up himself, which was a funny bit of luck on Amamiya’s part._

_But beyond the confirmation of Amamiya’s skill within and without the Metaverse, Goro’s real reward came while Amamiya examined an exhibit trivia board. In the midst of trying to solve a riddle involving a beluga whale and an otter, of all things._

_Amamiya was impressively stone-faced, but still an amateur. There were cracks around the edges of his mask which he hadn’t yet learned to smooth away. In the future Goro would catalogue, classify, memorize all of his known micro-expressions—out of necessity, out of curiosity—he didn't much care, it didn't much matter, and this was the first: his eyes not quite focused, the corners of his lips turned down, the slightest pinch of the brow. In combination, concentration. Stumped, but determined to find a solution. True, deep, singular focus and thought mapped out across his face. Obvious in hindsight. Plain as day once Goro trained his brain to find the clues._

_And—and he realized then that Amamiya had always worn this slight quirk of expression around him. Ever since they first met._

_That’s why it took Goro so long to identify it._

_Amamiya turned to him then, away from the trivia board—slowly, like he’d known Goro was watching then whole time, and said: “you wrinkle your nose when you’re thinking.”_

“Akechi.”

Goro blinks. “Right,” he says, recovering quickly. Remembers where they are, what they’re doing.

A mirror of the past is in front of him: eyes not quite focused, corners of the lips turned down, the slightest pinch of the brow.

This new development, this new reality, the shining white haze constantly present at the edges of his vision… well, at least Goro isn’t the only one confounded by it all.

“Alright then. The facts: though some abnormalities appeared immediately, the most glaring ones arrived after the new year,” Goro lists off, continuing where he left off before he lost himself. He rests his hip against a nearby dryer, taps a contemplative finger to his lips. “And all the great and powerful _Phantom Thieves_ —with you as the sole exception—are living in this alternate reality without even realizing it.”

“Mm.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Mm,” Amamiya smirks.

Goro doesn’t cover his face in frustration, but it’s a close thing. “Be serious for a single moment, would you? We need to—”

And, of course, Amamiya’s pocket chooses that exact moment to vibrate.

“Go on,” Goro sighs, waves a careless hand. They’re getting nowhere fast anyway and he needs time to think without any distractions staring at him and making unhelpful sounds. “Answer it. Unless you have something to hide?”

Amamiya gives him a look, accepts the call, brings the phone to his ear.

Goro listens, watches.

Oh, it’s _kindness_ softening Amamiya’s expression now. One of Goro’s least favorites. Too obvious. Alien. Fake. It smooths out his features, paves over the cracks in his mask and plasters the least genuine version of Amamiya’s already-rare smile on top.

Amamiya nods and hums and nods some more.

The call is short—that pointless pity beginning to fade the instant he hangs up, fading further when his attention slowly turns back to Goro.

Gone by the time he looks him in the eyes.

“That was Yoshizawa-san’s voice, wasn’t it?” Goro blurts out into the quiet. “And, I believe I heard her say the word ‘Palace?’”

Amamiya nods. "She wants me to meet her in Odaiba. She thinks she found the source of this distortion.”

Oh, does she? “You’re going, then?” Goro asks, stepping forward, the slightest bit closer, and—

Amamiya’s mask _shatters_.

It’s fascinating.

It’s a little horrifying.

Goro carefully pretends he hadn’t noticed a thing. Quickly memorizes how Amamiya’s eyes had widened to a comical degree—his shortened breath, his jittering hand, actually _still_ shaking against the dryer it’s resting on.

Amamiya stares at his own hand like its someone else’s, balls it into a fist, shoves it deep into his coat pocket. Goro has never seen anything like it.

He files his findings away for now—he’ll need to figure out this new, unknown aspect of his rival. Needs it more than anything. But first…

“Now? Ren?” Goro prods again, feels his smirk evolve into something slightly more wicked, just on the edge of acceptable.

Amamiya swallows. “Yeah,” he says.

“Good.” Goro breezes past him, steps out of the laundromat into the even-more frigid air of the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya. “I’m coming with you, of course. Unless you think you can solve this without me?”

Amamiya actually lingers behind a moment. He tilts his head three degrees to the left, takes just too long of a pause. “You should probably come,” he finally says.

And just like that, _permission granted_ , they head off to Odaiba.

The journey is easy and comfortable, if a little cold. Walking, trains, more walking.

It’s nostalgic in a way that reminds Goro a little too much of summers days wasted away loitering in the city, seeking out cool drinks and air-conditioned respites where they could find them. Autumn evenings spent everywhere and nowhere, talking about everything and nothing, Amamiya foolishly showing more and more of himself, Goro meticulously peeling him apart so that when the winter came…

“But that’s why—”

“No, it isn’t,” Goro interrupts. “And you know I’m right.”

Amamiya smirks. “You didn’t listen—”

“I don’t have to, I know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?”

“He should have turned around.”

“Okay,” Amamiya bumps their shoulders together as they walk because he knows it makes Goro skip a step every time and he’s annoying like that. “You got me. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“But you’re completely ignoring the point of the film,” he enunciates slowly like he’s speaking to an idiot (because he is) as Amamiya stifles a laugh, turned away with his fist over his mouth. As if he hadn’t purposely instigated this entire damn debate in the first place. “I can explain it to you a few more times, since it seems that’s what you require to understand the most basic of… concepts…?”

There’s no response. Amamiya is gone from his side.

Goro stops in his tracks, turns around—lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he finds Amamiya is still there, just fallen behind. Standing still in the eerie quiet. He’s staring up at… something.

“Ren.”

Amamiya barely turns, offers Goro a fraction of a glance. “The city’s beautiful in the snow,” he murmurs.

“It’s only snow.”

A few flakes gracefully land on Amamiya’s best curl, his long eyelashes. That iridescent shine sparkles along the edges of Goro’s vision—the ever-present reminder that something isn’t quite right with this world. It only works to make Amamiya more ethereal, more beautiful. It’s infuriating.

So Goro keeps talking, because that’s what he does. “It’s not anything special. By tomorrow all this will have melted and turned to disgusting, dirty slush. Just the same as always. Now, stop wasting my time and let’s go.”

Silence stretches between them. Amamiya does eventually return to reality—he brushes snow out of his hair, silently rejoins Goro as if he’d never stopped.

Their journey continues, side-by-side.

When they finally reach her Yoshizawa stands alone, small and dainty and bundled up in a heavy red coat. She keeps twisting her hair through her fingers, adjusting her glasses, tapping an impatient foot against the ground. A fifteen year-old award-winning gymnast… the idea of all that pent-up energy is making Goro prematurely exhausted. And odds are he’s going to have to deal with this all day.

_Wait for it…_

“Senpai!” She calls out when she spots them, waves excitedly.

Then her eyes slide over to Goro. Pause. She takes a hesitant step back.

_There it is._

“I…” She looks to Amamiya. Back to Goro. “I don’t understand,” she says.

“It’s alright, he knows about all this.” Amamiya has that same fake-ass compassion from earlier plastered on his face, suffusing his tone like he’s calming a skittish deer. “He wants to help.”

“But,” she hesitates, fiddles with her hair, “s-senpai…”

Goro rolls his eyes. Doesn’t bother to hide it, for once. He walks past Yoshizawa rather than bother with their “conversation,” takes a closer look at this thing she’s found.

The Palace—and it is a Palace, Goro is sure of that now—is obvious in its imperceptibility. Like a mirage in a desert, a heat haze, shining and similar to the small distortion in Goro’s peripheral vision. There, always there, but not able to be directly perceived.

Amamiya and Yoshizawa are still muttering amongst themselves. Goro loves nothing more than to be treated like he doesn’t exist.

“What do you make of this, Ren?” he asks, interrupting their little sidebar.

It takes him longer than Goro would like, but Amamiya does eventually amble over to join him, hands still shoved deep in his pockets. He looks at the vague outline of the Palace. Tilts his head five degrees to the right, gets a sparkle in his eye.

Oh. Goro braces for impact.

“Mm... unclear.”

Fuck.

What a stupid fucking joke. He’s just so amused by himself, constantly, isn’t he? It doesn’t even matter how Goro reacts to his nonsense, Amamiya still…

_This one wasn’t an expression he’d planned to catalogue—it was more an annoying quirk than anything useful. Call it self-preservation, lest Goro find himself stuck rolling his eyes forever._

_They’d just finished a rousing round of darts, a few perfect games. Enough for the both of them to be satisfied for a time, at least._

_“…but even hard data can be distorted,” Goro explained as they walked along the main line in Kichijoji, sipping the soda he’d gotten from a nearby vending machine. It wasn’t great, wasn’t even good, because Amamiya had dared him to choose the strangest flavor he could find. “That’s the trouble with cognition, isn’t it? The human mind is biased towards seeing what it wants to see.”_

_“Positootly,” Amamiya hummed._

_Goro remembers how his train of thought had immediately skidded to a stop. “…positively?”_

_“Yeah,” Amamiya tilted his head five degrees to the right, got a sparkle in his eye. “That’s what I said,” and then took an innocent sip of his own soda—the horrible flavor Goro had dared him to try as retribution._

_“No, you said ‘positootly.’ Which isn’t even close to a word.”_

_“Isn’t it?”_

_“You’re trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you?” Goro sighed._

_“No,” Amamiya stopped right there in the street, gave him a brilliant, wide, dazzling smile. Which was pointless to catalogue, because it was so inexplicably obvious in its intent. “I only wanted to hear the Ace Detective Prince say ‘toot.’”_

_“You’re insufferable,” Goro mumbled._

_“Negatoot.”_

_It was then that he unfortunately discovered that of all drinks to accidentally snort, soda was the most painful._

Goro turns from Amamiya to hide his face, coughs.

“Yoshizawa-san,” he calls out behind him. “I’m surprised you’re able to perceive the cracks in this reality as well. Could it be you’re like him,” Goro tilts his head carelessly back towards Amamiya, “and myself?”

Immune? Special? How special can special be if there are three of them now?

He’ll have to keep a close eye on Yoshizawa.

Her lips turn down at Goro’s frankly obvious suspicion, her expressive eyes filled with quiet determination. “Akechi-san. I think I know what this is and what’s causing it, but I need to see it for myself to be sure. Will you… help me?”

“Ren and I were planning on investigating anyway,” Goro says. “I suppose you can tag along. So long as you don’t slow us down, of course.”

She promises not to. Goro doesn’t believe her, but whatever. More bodies to throw between him and his enemies.

The inside of this Palace is honestly about what Goro expected—just as shiny and white and lovely as its mirage in reality. He takes a deep breath, revels in that Metaverse air. It’s exactly the same as the real world, obviously, but there’s also _something_ about it which defies reason and logic. It’s been so long since Goro was last here…

He idly adjusts a few parts of his uniform, waits for Joker to stop messing with that almost bottomless bag of his. Absolute boy scout, always prepared for anything.

And Yoshizawa is eyeing Goro—trying to be subtle about it and failing miserably.

“What.”

She doesn’t flinch at his recognition, which is more than Goro expected. “Your outfit. It’s…”

Goro raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not what I imagined it would be,” she finishes quickly.

“Mm.” As if Yoshizawa has any ground to stand on. Imagine: awakening to a spirit of rebellion which essentially plagiarizes another’s. Embarrassing. And of all of them, she had to pick the goddamn clown.

Said clown finally stands up, _finally_ ready. “Crow has always been unique,” he says, winks like he’s making fun of him. “He likes the attention.” Goro narrows his eyes, but doesn’t give Joker the satisfaction of reacting otherwise.

“Crow?”

“His code name,” Joker explains.

Yoshizawa frowns. “I know that. I was… never mind. I’m sorry.”

Joker tilts his head at Yoshizawa’s mood and Goro remembers that Joker has been through this whole charade approximately eight thousand times, thanks to all the little strays he’s picked up. How exhausting, to waste time explaining and explaining and explaining when they could just leave her and _go_.

“We should figure out your code name too, shouldn’t we?”

“I have one,” she says quietly, surprising the both of them. “It’s ‘Violet.’”

Joker smiles. “I like it. Better than what I would have come up with.”

“Oh.” Goodness, blushy blushy, and she isn’t even trying to hide it. Must be nice. They have ten seconds before Goro leaves them here. Yoshizawa— _Violet_ —twists her fingers in her ponytail. “Um, just out of curiosity, were you thinking, senpai?”

“Leotard,” the idiot responds.

And Violet bursts out into a disgusting, wet sort of laugh-sob that has Goro physically restraining himself from rolling his eyes completely back into their sockets. Women are so emotional.

“Could we _go?_ ” he growls. “I shouldn’t need to remind you that there aren’t infinite hours in the day.” And then hewalks into the Palace, only a little relieved to hear the two of them following behind.

So here they are, just Joker and Crow. And their little tagalong. He can almost pretend it’s just the two of them, like their escapades across the city and into the Metaverse.

That is, until they spot their first Shadow and their tagalong launches herself forward with a sort of brazen confidence that Goro has only ever seen in one other person.

“Joker!” Violet commands, “the left one—hit them with everything you’ve got until we figure out their weakness! Crow, have you got debuffs?”

“Yes…?” Crow says, as Joker blinks, shrugs, and rushes forward to fight. “ _Debilitate_.”

“Good,” Violet says. “Do that on all of them, then support Joker with physical. _Kougaon!_ ”

So... Violet is the leader.

In hindsight, he should have realized then that there was more to this reality he’d already discovered. But for now Goro follows her orders—he really doesn’t mind. Didn’t mind with Joker either. As long as they don’t take too long to decide what they want him to do, don’t make stupid decisions, and let him hit things. They all make progress either way, and honestly the idea of having to “manage” more people than just himself would make him want to leave the Metaverse behind entirely.

Besides, he thinks to himself as Joker tumbles gracefully backwards and Goro launches himself forwards—sharing a glance as they pass each other by. Besides, this puts the two of them on an even playing field.

Maybe this is the way it was always meant to be.

Until Joker gets knocked out.

It was a physical hit, something that he should have dodged, always dodged, and then—a bless attack. And that was it.

“Crow!”

Goro stares at Joker, sprawled out and prone on the sickly white floor. His mask is crooked, jacket ruffled the wrong way. It’s wrong, inelegant, _stupid_.

He can’t stop looking.

“ _Crow!”_

Ren was just…

“Crow—!“ Violet screams. “What are you doing!? You need to revive him!!”

“ _Samarecarm,_ ” Goro mumbles, half out of reflex. Ren twitches, takes a big gasping breath, scrambles to his feet.

They take out the other Shadows, probably. Goro isn’t really paying attention. He rounds on Joker as soon as the hall grows quiet.

“What the _hell_ was that!?”

“Crow—”

“No, you’re supposed to be better than this! Failure is not an option, never an option—you can’t just _lose, Joker,_ ” Goro spits and hisses. “If you make me bear witness to a display as pathetic as that a second time I’ll—”

Goro whirls on Violet. “And _you!_ Where the hell were you when this happened—you’re his teammate! Aren’t you supposed to protect each other—isn’t that the entire damn point!?”

“Crow, it wasn’t her fault.”

Violet shakes her head. “No, I… it was my fault. I apologize. I should have been more aware of the circumstances. But…” her lips set a thin, firm line. “These things happen. Surely—“

“No. They don’t ‘ _happen,_ ’ Yoshizawa. Not to him.”

Violet stares at him, something unreadable in her expression now. Just like everything else she’s stolen from Joker. “Let’s keep moving,” she says instead of responding, and strides gracefully towards the end of the hall.

Goro stalks behind her, very carefully not acknowledging Joker’s steady gaze burning two holes into his back.

He’s furious beyond fury. He feels _sick_. There’s no logical reason for it, he’s seen every other stupid Phantom Thief take a fall and thought nothing of it, but his mind is so clouded by nausea and anger and this damned shimmer that he can’t spend a moment contemplating what it could be.

Something is wrong with this world, besides the obvious.

Something is wrong with _Goro_.

He just barely manages to come to this realization as they tumble through a door, standing now on a raised platform encircling a large auditorium. Yoshizawa gasps as she steps inside, her attention caught on something towards the ceiling. She puts a dainty hand to her mouth.

“That’s—!”

A large screen above them had flickered on as soon as they’d entered. It’s clearly meant for them, all the more because…

“That’s… me,” Goro says.

There’s no mistaking the figure on the screen. Curled up on _his_ futon, in _his_ apartment, facing whatever the fuck, _whoever_ recorded this. Facing directly at Goro watching it now.

And _Goro_ is just laying there. Staring.

He’d would think he was dead, if it weren’t for the occasional blink of his eyes. He’d think he was watching a still image, if it weren’t for the snow falling outside his apartment window. It’s a horrifying invasion of privacy, disgusting in its accuracy, nonsensical, it’s—

The _snow_.

That’s it. The weather only turned cold enough to start snowing these past few weeks, so whatever this was, it had to be—

_Had to be done. That was it. And it was worth it. It was going to be worth it. He would make sure of it._

—a trick.

Of course. Goro knows it’s a trick. Because—because of that view outside his apartment window. He’d remember a breakdown of this fucking magnitude happening so recently and he doesn’t, he doesn’t at all so it didn’t happened, isn’t real, can’t be real, of course it’s not real.

He turns away from the screen, puts the image out of sight and mind.

“Crow,” Joker says.

“This is fake. It’s a trick. I’m afraid whoever the hell is running this sham of a Palace will have to put in more effort to fool me,” he tells the two others standing still and useless behind him, announces loud enough in case they’re being watched. After all, December wasn’t an easy month but it certainly wasn’t…

It wasn’t—?

December was…

_He had to make sure it was worth—_

White shimmers to his left. Goro puts a hand to his head. It… aches?

“Crow!”

Fuck. What was that he was just doing?

“This is fake,” he tells Joker and Violet. “It’s a trick.”

Silence greets him. Joker even more stonefaced than usual, Violet nervously fiddling with the hilt of her rapier.

“Crow-san…” she finally says, glancing at Joker. “I’m... are you sure you want to keep going? Senpai and I can—”

“I’m _fine!_ ” Goro snaps.

Violet actually takes a full two steps away from him, her eyes wide as saucers underneath her mask, breath coming short and shallow. All those monsters and demons she fights and Goro is what scares her—fucking pathetic.

He whirls away from her, her and Joker and that still flickering television. “We need to keep moving,” Goro growls, drawing his sword because—yes, naturally, that disgusting home movie was only meant to be a distraction. More Shadows are lurking just around the corner.

He draws his lightsaber and launches himself at the things without another thought because he’s tired to death of _thinking_. Wishes, Palaces, December, Ren collapsed on the floor, too still to be breathing. He can’t stop remembering stupid shit, keeps getting lost in the past. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is how it’s supposed to be and he just. Can’t. _Think!_

"Get _out of my way!!_ " Goro shouts, summoning Robin Hood. These lizard-beasts are immune to physical attacks, bless spells bounce right off them, fine, whatever, he’ll simply have to—

“Ah!”

“Crow!”

Goro reels back as Joker flies forward. He actually drops his ray gun on the ground—a move embarrassing enough to jolt him back to reality.

Ren and Yoshizawa cut the monsters apart easily.

And Goro stands impotent, clutching a deep wound in his side, stark red blooming across the white of his costume. His gun is on the ground, just in front of him. He should probably get that.

_But it…_

“Crow.”

_It wasn’t…_

“Hey.”

_Wasn’t worth…_

“Goro?”

Ah. No matter what careful emotion they were expressing, Ren Amamiya always did have the most beautiful eyes.

Goro borrows them, allows himself to stare shamelessly into Ren’s eyes only as an anchor to bring himself back to reality, again, _again_. He presses his fingers deeper into his wound because he knows that is real and here and now, at least.

There’s one demon left standing, held up by the point of Violet’s blade, and when it talks it speaks directly to Goro. “Such a fool, rejecting our lord’s mercy,” it wheezes. “Witness your shame for yourself."

And then the Shadow vanishes.

“ _—honored to be the first to speak with you.”_

A tinny voice sounds behind them, back in that horrible fucking room, not even giving them a moments rest to recover. It’s someone on a recording, a loudspeaker. “ _After your historic—_ "

Goro screams.

_He was standing outside, bundled up and shivering in the cold when he saw it. He didn’t need to see it, and_ He _didn’t need to do this interview at all._

_But He did._

_Because He knew Goro would be watching._

_And Goro was._

_It was on one of the huge television screens posted around Shibuya. People were milling all around, as if everything were okay. As if the world hadn’t ended. “Tell me,” the interviewer said, leaning forward in her plush chair, “were you nervous that night? Any doubts?"_

_And then He said—with that nasty smirk on His face, curled up at the edges in the same way Goro’s seen in old photographs of himself, before he burned them all—He said, “not in the slightest. I knew my ideals would—”_

_“Shut up!!”_ Goro shouts at the screen still displaying his half-dead lookalike, at the two figures on the level below him, just out of reach in this godforsaken Palace. Another voice is talking, someone he doesn’t know, and Goro doesn’t care—he pulls himself up on the railing, ready to jump. Something grasps him by the cape, by his shoulders and his arms and pulls him back.

“ _I’ll kill him!_ ”

“Violet! Safe room?”

“There’s one just around the corner!”

“Goro, come on—”

“He’s dead, he’s dead, _he’s dead he’sdeadhe’sdeadhe’sdead!!_ ”

Goro fights, struggles and snarls and jabs his own elbow into his battle wound to stay grounded, to remember, to _remember_.

“Don’t,” he tells Ren after they reach the safe room, almost wants to beg. But he doesn’t, never has and never will, so Ren readies his healing spell anyway.

“Goro, who was that?”

“You should know him,” Goro says. “You should, shouldn’t you?” He’d hoped and he hadn’t, plotted and planned and thought maybe, maybe—why doesn’t Ren know? Everyone knows who that man is, _everyone_.

“Hey,” Ren says, his voice far away, his hands on Goro’s wound cool like water. And his mask—smoothed over, that fake smile turning up the corners of his lips but Goro doesn’t mind because this kindness is for him and he missed it so much, missed him, missed everything—

_“I got you pretty good, huh,” Joker murmured, passing him a few more bandages from his bag._

_“Superficial wounds, I assure you,” Goro said, though his ribs were aching a bit more than he’d like. “Don’t act like we weren’t evenly matched.”_

_“Of course,” Joker said. “You’re my rival. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”_

_He smiled then, in a way he’d never smiled at Goro before. That was Goro’s prize for throwing the match, pretending to lose. That stupid worthless smile, and the knowledge that Joker would give his next challenge absolutely everything he had._

_Goro wondered if that would be enough._

_“Hold on—you’ve got a cut,” Joker’s bare hand reached for Goro’s face, his thumb brushed lightly against Goro’s cheek. Cool like water but it still stung, just a little._

_When Ren pulled away, his thumb was smeared with a slash of red. He kept his eyes locked on Goro, where they belonged. Brought his thumb to his lips._

_Licked it._

_And Goro remembered thinking that leaning forward, chasing after him—it would be a terrible idea. He remembered having the thought and then, as if simply imagining the scenario made it real, he was tasting the salt and rust of his own blood on Ren’s tongue._

_They did leave the Metaverse, eventually._

_Goro told Amamiya he hated him, and he meant it. Threw down his next and final challenge, meant that too._

_And they never spoke of it again._

Ren Amamiya is the key.

That much is obvious. Goro is a detective. An ace detective. He has evidence. He has proof. He has all the pieces, could connect all the dots.

For the first time in his life he doesn’t want to.

"Akechi-san," Violet says sharply, drags him across the room after his wound is healed, away from Joker, fake concern plastered over her face. Easy to read, so easy, laughably easy, _boring_. She glances across the room where Joker is still watching—Goro can’t tell which mask he’s wearing from this far. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t think you should keep pushing yourself like this,” Violet says quietly. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you…” She hesitates a moment. Takes a deep breath. “I know pfl bzccvu jvegrz.”

Goro blinks. His heart rate ratchets up nonsensically, black dots pinprick his vision. Every cell in his body screams no, _NO_ , but again again again he doesn’t know _why_.

"What?"

"Jwf-cmf. Qgm… qgm caddwv zae, tsuc af Fgnwetwj. A cfgo qgm vav al," Violet continues, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. Maybe he hadn’t.

"What?” Goro tries again.

"Matm blg’m abf, Tdxvab-ltg. Ax’l zhgx. Rhn gxxw mh vhfx utvd mh kxtebmr,” she says, brow furrowed, still whispering furiously.

“I don’t understand,” Goro says. His throat is dry, his mouth is dry.

"C’g mills, von sio bupy ni lygygvyl qbun lyuffs bujjyhyx—C ehiq sio wuh Ueywbc-muh, jfyumy!”

“I don’t understand you, I don’t—”

Joker glances between them, more interested now. Stares at Violet’s back.

_Don’t look at her. Look at me._

"Don’t—don't look at me like that," Goro says.

_Look at me forever._

" _Stop!_ I’m fine, it’s fine!" he snaps, “you people need to stop wasting my fucking time—we haven’t found anything yet, we have to keep moving!”

His head is screaming in pain, that shining haze on the edges of his vision pulsing angrily with each beat of his heart. He doesn’t want this. There’s something in the edge of his vision, the tip of tongue, and he doesn’t want to know what it is.

But the sooner they finish this, the sooner it will be over. And everything will go back to the way it should be and he and Ren can leave and live and—

It doesn’t take them long to reach the auditorium where their target awaits.

“Dr. Maruki!”

Violet strides up to an innocuous-looking figure dressed in white, immediately furious.

“You know this man?”

Joker seems as confused as Goro feels. “Takuto Maruki. He’s a counselor at our school.”

Maruki smiles. "It’s been a while. I’m glad to see the both of you. You especially, Amamiya-kun."

This man stands like he’s a friend, smiles like he means it—assured and powerful and every bit the disgusting cult leader Goro expected him to be. Goro hangs back, observes, because well, Ren is doing the same, and Violet seems to be handling it and Goro is… Goro is handling himself.

"Dr. Maruki, whatever you’re doing to this world, however you’re doing it, you need to stop,” she says, every bit as commanding as she is in battle.

“Yoshizawa-san, if I could explain…”

Maruki talks and talks, and Goro can’t seem to hold any of it, the man’s words slipping through his grasp the instant they’re spoken. Just like Yoshizawa in the safe room.

Goro’s head pounds.

That shine, that damned shimmer, that feeling in his gut that everything is wrong, that something horrible has happened, something beyond name and reason and he _doesn’t want to remember._

"Akechi-kun.”

Goro’s eyes snap to Maruki. Maruki smiles.

“Don’t you like the reality I created for you?"

"For—me?” Goro grits out. “I didn’t want this, I didn’t—"

_Goro took a deep breath. Closed his eyes, shut out the bright and flashing casino lights. Turned to Joker and—_

_“Just… be careful, won’t you?” he murmured. “Even the great and powerful leader of the Phantom Thieves isn’t—”_

_Joker chuckled, and he—_

"Akechi-kun."

Goro buries his head in his arms, shouts against the past being drudged up yet again. He knows this, he _knows_ this, he went over these memories over and over again and it’s _pointless_.

"Akechi-kun,” Maruki says again, hateful pity suffusing his voice. “You’re suffering immense pain each time you tap into your forgotten past. Please—“

“Pain caused by you!” Violet steps between them. “Stop messing with his head, you’re not helping him!” she shouts, all fire and fury. “This man did the same thing to me, Akechi-san, I only snapped out of it because—because…” she trails off, staring at Joker, then regains that spitfire determination of hers. “Akechi-san needs to know the truth—they both do!”

“The truth?” Joker asks.

The truth. The truth. He needs to know the truth. The truth will save him.

Today had started out so well. How did it come to this?

"Stop it—stop this, now!" Goro chokes. “Tell me the truth! What the hell have you done to me!?”

"I’d honestly hoped all those warnings you were given would change your minds," Maruki shakes head, so sincerely sad that is makes Goro even more nauseous. "But if it’s your true desire, then I would like you to recall what you’ve done."

A screen— _another fucking screen_ —descends from the ceiling. Flickers on. Displays a first-person view, like they’re watching the events on the television unfold from behind someone’s eyes.

Goro knows this place.

He memorized the floor plan. He snuck in with weak excuses and walked it, back and forth, practicing. How could he ever have forgotten?

It wasn’t any old job. This one was special.

_It was just like every other job. Not special in the slightest._

_It was easy. He’d practiced. He’d snuck in with weak excuses and walked it, back and forth. He’d memorized the floor plan._

_He knew this place._

_Knew it so well that when the time came, he felt like he was watching a film from behind someone else’s eyes. Lines recited from a play. It wasn’t him and it was. He’d done this a thousand times._

_The gun was louder than he thought it would be, but that was fine. No one could hear them down here. The guard was dead the moment he’d agreed to work with—_

_“A… kechi?”_

_It was a film. A record. A play. He continued to recite his lines. He couldn’t hear them, but he said them. That’s the thing most people didn’t realize about performance—if you were improvising you were already lost._

_After enough practice, the body simply took over even if something unexpected happened. The show must go on, as they say._

_He watched Amamiya break character—his eyes grew wide, his breath quickened like a cornered rabbit, hands trembled against the metal table. “Wait,” he said, interrupting Goro’s part. That was disappointing, almost brought Goro completely out of it, but he’d practiced, and Amamiya was new at this. An amateur, just a kid. Goro was a fool to have forgotten._

_Amamiya shivered and shook and Goro put his gun to his head just like he’d rehearsed._

_“Wait, Goro—!”_

Goro closes his eyes. Flinches at the gunshot.

He doesn’t have to watch. He can see the rest clearly—the blood and viscera spattered across the back wall, red dripping down and disappearing into black curls—matting into the one that was Goro’s favorite—then pouring out too fast to plug. That night he would find blood stained on the inside of his blazer pocket, smeared off of his silencer.

Yoshizawa wails.

“That’s right…” Goro trails off mindlessly. “I…”

Their game ended. Months ago. Goro won.

The Phantom Thieves fell apart without their leader, as expected. Masayoshi Shido was elected Prime Minister without issue. And Goro’s revenge was nothing. It was all for nothing. Shido already knew everything, he had his people waiting in the wings to take Goro out and he’d had to run. He’d barely escaped with his life, went into hiding, the world fell into ruin and, and—

The illusion of the righteous Detective Prince disappears in an involuntary burst of flame, revealing his true self.

Ren Amamiya stares at him, quietly. It’s difficult to see his expression, always difficult but even more so now, through the black mask on Goro’s face and the wet haze clouding his vision. He doesn’t know what he’d want to see anyway.

“I killed you. You’re dead.”

And then Ren flickers, as if a spell is breaking, as if Goro’s self-inflicted ignorance was the only thing keeping him here.

“ _No—!!_ ”

He grabs whatever part of Ren he can reach. Takes in wide eyes, shortened breath, and— _oh_ , Goro knows this expression now, the only one he could see whenever he closed his eyes, the one that haunted him for days and weeks and months and forever after he’d shot his _everything_ in the head for no fucking reason at all—he’s broken Ren Amamiya but Goro can still fix him, he can fix all of this now that Ren is back.

Ren tries to jerk his arm away. He looks terrified. Goro holds tight, digs his claws into the meat of Ren’s arm.

“You killed me?” Ren whispers.

“It was—I’d meant—“ Goro howls in frustration. “ _You weren’t supposed to die!_ You fucking… _idiot!_ You moron—you’re my rival, you were supposed to find a way out, go into hiding, stay the fuck away, you weren’t supposed to _lose!!_ ”

“You _killed_ me!”

“Akechi-san,” Yoshizawa takes how of his other arm, the one that isn’t anchoring his only friend to existence. She crying, tears falling beneath her mask and no matter how desperately Goro tries to shake her off she won’t _let go._ “You’re hurting him—Akechi-san, _please._ ”

Suddenly he understands what Yoshizawa was trying to tell him, back in that safe room.

_“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you but… I know you killed senpai.”_

_“Ren-kun. You… you killed him, back in November. I know you did it.”_

_“That isn’t him, Akechi-san. He’s gone. You need to come back to reality.”_

_“I’m sorry, but you have to remember what really happened—I know you can Akechi-san, please!”_

“Please, remember why we came here!” Yoshizawa continues in the present. “You know this world is wrong. Don’t let Maruki manipulate you into accepting something that isn’t real—you’re Goro Akechi, I know you’re better than that!”

“But this is real,” Maruki interrupts quietly, still so sincere in his sadness. “Amamiya-kun is real… isn’t that right, Akechi-kun?”

Goro examines Ren, though he doesn’t have to. He knows the answer. This stranger could never have imagined a Ren Amamiya as true as the one in front of him—no one could. Not even Goro. Goro spent a lifetime cataloguing quirks and jokes and smiles and _this is Ren Amamiya_.

“Goro,” Ren says.

“Shut up.”

“Goro—”

“ _No!!_ ” He summons the Persona he’d kept secret from Ren and all the Phantom Thieves and Loki calls upon a physical blast that sends Yoshizawa flying backward. “I can’t! I can’t go back, I can’t be the one that killed you—it was all for nothing, don’t you get that? You died for _nothing_ , for no _goddamn reason at all!!_ ”

If—if Ren’s death had been meaningless, why couldn’t his resurrection be meaningless too? Goro had nothing, has nothing, is nothing—it should have been him that died instead of Ren, but if he had to live why couldn’t he have this?

“How could you possibly understand,” he snarls at Yoshizawa, recalling now the endless emptiness, his shame and failure. She looks toward Maruki. Goro knows she’s made her choice. “Don’t make me stop you!”

Goro calls Loki again, unleashes attack after attack on Violet. He tries to knock Joker out—Joker, weak and weary and out of practice—when he joins the fight against him, but can’t seem to land a hit. His vision is impaired, his head is aching, his heart is gone.

It’s Violet’s bless spell that knocks him to the ground.

It’s Maruki who helps him up.

“You understand, Akechi-kun,” Maruki says calmly, steadying him as he sways on his feet. “You didn’t wish for your revenge plan to work, for your father to be ruined… those things wouldn’t bring you happiness. All you wanted was him. And now he’s here.”

“He’s here,” Goro repeats. Something is wrong about this, something is wrong with him, something is wrapping around his leg,

_but everything already was wrong, had been wrong for a long time, and Ren was here now._

“Maruki! Let go of him!” Ren shouts,

_or maybe Goro only remembered him saying that._

Goro reaches out for Ren, but doesn’t mind that he’s too far away. He’s just glad he’s back from wherever he’d gone.

“I’m sorry,” Goro says, and he’d laugh if he weren’t so tired. What a stupid way to waste his first ever apology—he doesn’t even remember what he’s apologizing for.

_Joker stood in a white room. His mask, shattered, in a way Goro had never seen before and his hand, gloved in red, outstretched to Goro as well, trembling._

_Familiar curiously welled up within him. He’d need to figure out this new, unknown aspect of his rival… like he always does… he needs it more than anything._

_But… first…_

“Goro! Goro!!"

_Ren turned to him and laughed at his expression, the grey of his eyes sparkling, made ethereal by the cool blue light of the aquarium._

_“What, did you think you were the only one watching?”_

Another something wraps snug around his outstretched arm, drags him down into a warm and serene darkness.

_“I’m your rival, remember?”_

**Author's Note:**

>   * Joker fails to convince Sae Niijima to cooperate with him and is killed in the interrogation room by Goro Akechi.
>   * His death and the absence of Takuto Maruki‘s consistent presence at Shujin shock “Kasumi” back into being Sumire. 
>   * As the Phantom Thieves grieve and hide, Shido’s Palace remains untouched. Masayoshi Shido is elected Prime Minister and his influence in the Metaverse remains a secret. 
>   * The world falls into ruin as foretold—but Sumire Yoshizawa gathers the Phantom Thieves as their new leader and fights against the God of Control. 
>   * Ren Amamiya returns to Leblanc on Christmas Eve, unconcerned by the gaps in his memory. All the Phantom Thieves—with Sumire Yoshizawa as the sole exception—accept his return and their new alternate reality without even realizing it. 
> 

> 
> catch me on twitter [@shouldbewerking](https://twitter.com/shouldbewerking)


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